‘Ay, ay.’
‘What else is there forbye gullies?’
‘Juist odds and ends.’
‘Can I hae a look?’
‘Na, na, ye’ll taigle me. Come on, I’m gaun up to the bothy.’
He shut the drawer and turn to the fute ο the wuiden stair. I was puzzled a wee, for aa the bothies I kent ο were the barn and the garret abune the milk-hoose, whaur the Donegals and their weemen-folk sleepit in the simmer whan they cam to pou the strawberries.
‘What bothy, grandfaither?’
‘The bothy up here.’
I keepit weill ahint him, for I was feart. My grannie had aye telt me there was a bogle up the stair.
‘Is there a bothy up there?’
‘Ay, for the kitchen lassies, but we dinna hae ony nou.’
I kent that, for it was Daft Sanny that gied the help in the kitchen.
‘Had the kitchen lassies flaes?’
I was still feart to follow, because I had aye been telt no to gang near the ither bothies for fear ο flaes.
‘Na, na, come on up.’
I gaed up the first wheen steps wi my hairt dingin, but whan I had taen the turn to the richt I felt no sae feart, for my grandfaither had opened the door at the tap, and through it I could see a bricht wee garret wi a bonnie paper on its was, aa yella roses like the anes my minnie had plantit roun at the front whan she was a lassie.
I followed my grandfaither in, and lookit roun, haudin on to the tail of his jaiket just in case. But I had nae need to fear. It was a lichtsome wee room: bare a wee, for the two built-in beds werena made up, and there wasna a stick ο plenishin. I likit the sky licht, though, and the paper wi the yella roses, and wonert if my grannie wad let me come up nou whiles and play at hooses. Then I gat roun fornent my grandfaither and saw that there were twa sets ο harness hingin frae airn cleiks aside the door. He was takin the bit aff ane ο them, a coorse cairt-horse set, but I didna pey muckle heed. The ither set had taen my braith awa.
It was like toy harness, it was that wee, and it had sic a polish on it ye wad hae thocht it was new frae the saiddler’s. The brecham and blinkers had a gloss like my grandfaither’s lum hat, and the rings for the reyns glissent like siller. The reyns themsells were sae delicate ye wad hae thocht they couldna haud.
‘What harness is that, grandfaither?’
‘It was harness we had for yer mither’s pownie.’
‘Had my minnie a pownie?’
‘Ay.’
‘Whan?’
‘Afore she mairrit yer daddie.’
I began to wish she hadna mairrit my daddie.
‘It maun hae been gey wee, the pownie.’
‘Ay, it was wee.’
‘Was it a sheltie?’
‘Ay.’
‘What did she drive it in?’
‘The bogie.’
‘Bogie?’
‘Ay, it’s in the cairt shed.’
‘I haena seen it.’
‘I wadna woner. It’s awa at the back.’
‘What’s it like?’
‘It’s juist a bogie. A wee kind ο cairt affair for gaun jauntin in.’
‘Juist like the gig?’
‘Na na, the twa saits are ower the wheels and rin back to front, an there’s a wee door in the back, wi an airn step up to it.’
‘Can I see it?’
‘Ay, if the rain’s aff. Come on and we’ll see.’
I followed him doun and oot through the scullery to the back entry, whaur the pails ο clean watter stude that Daft Sanny cairrit frae the waal. The rain wasna bad. He gied a cry to my grannie.
‘I’m takin Rab oot to the shed.’
‘Aa richt, but see he doesna get wat.’
‘Ay, ay.’
We crossed the wat closs and gaed ower amang the hens. They flew awa skrechin to the midden and left the shed fou ο feathers. My grandfaither gaed through atween the cairts and shiftit the reaper to mak a wey for me. Syne he shiftit the big wuiden plew that he used in the winter for clearin the snaw aff the roads. I hadna seen it for a gey while, for Yule had been green that year. He had an unco job, shiftin that plew, but in the end he gat it oot ο the wey and telt me to come on. It wasna easy to see at the back, for the stour in the place wi the hens aye scartin ticklet my nose and gart my een watter, but I gropit my wey ower aside him and felt for his jaiket tail.
‘That’s it, then.’
I blinkit like a bat. I could mak oot naething.
‘I canna see it.’
‘There, see, fornent ye.’
I gied my een a dicht and lookit hard, and shair eneuch there was the bogie. It was juist like ane I had seen afore at Fred Jubb the horse-brekers, whan he was brekin in shelties, but Fred had caaed it something else. He was an Englishman, Fred, and haurdly used oor names for onything.
It was ower daurk for me to see the haill ο the bogie, but by the wheels it was gey wee, juist a match for the harness in the scullery bothy. I lookit up at my grandfaither.
‘Could ye no pou it oot into the closs, Grandfaither, and let me hae a richt look at it?’
‘Na na. I wad hae to shift the haill shed.’
‘But I want to gang inside and let on I’m drivin it.’
‘It’ll be aa stour. I wad hae to wash it. I’ll fetch it oot efter, mebbe.’
‘Whan?’
‘Seterday comin.’
‘But that’s a haill week, nearly.’
‘Ye’ll hae to content yersell. I’m ower thrang the nou. I’ll hae to gang to the stable.’
‘Let me come tae.’
‘Na na.
